


Second Grace

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Alternate Reality, Genderswap, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New at his job, young and naive, Casey had never met a woman like Daniella Rydell - let alone have thought that she might need him as much as he needed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 2005. I am not sure what possessed me to turn Danny into a girl; I am actually quite fond of him just the way he is.

Dana was performing something not unlike a victory dance as she came into the office.

“You look happy,” Casey observed.

“I am happy!” she said. Looking at her huge, beaming grin, Casey couldn’t deny it seemed likely.

“Why are you happy?” he asked.

“Ask me!” she said. She was bouncing on her toes. That set off a chain reaction of bounce elsewhere, and Casey tore his gaze away from her cleavage with an effort.

“I did,” he pointed out.

“Ask me again!”

He sighed, and pushed himself away from his keyboard. “Dana. I’m happy you’re happy. In fact, I’m sure everybody’s happy that you’re happy. Now. Why are you so happy?”

She grinned. “Isn’t a girl allowed to be happy these days?” And she turned and started heading back out of the room.

“_Dana_!”

She twirled back in. “Guess,” she said (and the bounce was back), “guess who we’ve booked for a celebrity interview. Guess!”

Casey cast about for a name. “Sugar Ray Robinson,” he offered, randomly. “_Jackie_ Robinson. Jackie Wilson …”

“Woodrow Wilson,” Rob added. Dana made a face at them.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong, and minus points for anyone not actually connected with sports. Minus minus points for anyone dead. No, tomorrow we have booked an interview with …” She paused for dramatic effect, and smiled radiantly at Casey’s co-anchor. “Rob? Who’s your favourite female yachtsman in the whole wide world, _ever?_”

“Oh. My. God.” Rob Bernstein actually blenched. Casey had never seen the phenomenon before, but that was the only thing it could be called. “Oh, god, _no_. Dana, tell me you didn’t!”

She shrugged. “I could tell you that, my friend, but if I did, I would be telling a lie. I have indeed done that thing. She’ll be coming in at three thirty tomorrow to do the recording, so I’ll need you to have your questions prepared by the end of today. I don’t want to cramp your creative style, but I’d like you to run them by me before I let her loose on you.”

“You want to vet me?” Rob’s voice held a note of outrage, which left Casey puzzled. Dana always looked over their scripts: that was part of her job. “No,” Rob said, firmly. “Categorically, no. I’m not doing it.” He dropped his pencil, sat back and held up his hands defensively, as if he thought Dana was about to leap over the desk and start tearing at his throat. Maybe he did think that. Dana wasn’t a good person to go up against; Casey would never have had the nerve. “Dana, I am _not_ dealing with that woman again!”

Casey waited for the explosion. It never came.

“Ro-o-o-b,” Dana said coaxingly, and perched herself on the edge of the desk. “Rob, she’s just won the Bermuda Cup. First American victory in fifteen years. She’s big news. This is a real coup for us, and you’re just the right person to – “

“_No_, Dana!” Rob said again. “I mean it. That woman’s insane. Seriously. She is flat-out, bugfuck, batshit crazy, and I’m not going to be left looking like an idiot on national television just because – ”

“It’s regional television,” Dana said, her voice abruptly hard and flat, “and you do it every night. Like it says in your contract, Robert.”

They glared at one another. The air in the office suddenly seemed very thin and cold.

“Er – ?” Casey ventured. He felt as though he should put up his hand. Dana glanced over at him and smiled encouragingly. Dana was one of the best things about this job: capable, dependable, supportive. The same, Casey reflected, couldn’t be said about all of his colleagues.

“Yes, Casey? Something you want to ask?”

He nodded. “Um – who are we talking about? Exactly?”

Dana looked back at Rob. “Tell the man, Robert. Who are we talking about? Exactly?”

Rob rested his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands with a groan. “Daniella Rydell. Heiress, society girl, darling of the glossy magazine, the paparazzi, and trash television. World-class, god help us all, yachtswoman. Bi- ”

“Rob!” Dana snapped.

“_-bane_ of my life since college. Has not yet done the world a favour, fallen overboard and drowned, but I live in hope.” He looked up at Dana again. “You can’t ask me to interview her! Not again. Not after what happened last time!”

Casey knew he was never going to dare ask what ‘last time’ had involved. Maybe someone on the production team knew. Kerry, perhaps. Kerry knew everything. There were penalties involved in not making sure that Kerry knew everything.

Dana had her head cocked to one side like an inquisitive bird. “And yet,” she said, in seeming wonder, “see how I am doing that very thing!” She was starting to sound bored with the whole argument now, Casey thought. And at the same moment, Rob suddenly said,

“Casey can do it.”

Dana and Casey both spoke together.

“What?”

“_Me?_” Casey’s voice, he was embarrassed to note, came out as a squeak.

“Why not?” Rob demanded. He seemed to be gaining enthusiasm. Not, Casey suspected, because of any faith in his own abilities; simply from the desire to pass the buck. “It’s time he came out into the spotlight.”

Casey wasn’t sure whether this was as good a thing as it sounded. Rob rarely did anything out of altruism. “Thanks,” he said warily. “So, for my first celebrity face-to-face, you want me to take on a crazy lady that _you’re_ too scared to handle?”

Rob grinned at him. Rob had a lot of teeth. Much like a happy crocodile. “Precisely!” he said. “Ah, you’ll be fine, Case.” (Casey hated being called ‘Case’. Rob did it a lot.) “She doesn’t have a history with you.”

“Fresh meat?” Casey murmured.

“Nah. You’ll be safe. Besides,” he went on persuasively, “it’s time you got out from behind the anchor desk.” He appealed to Dana. “Dana, isn’t it time that Casey got out from behind the anchor desk?”

“Casey,” Dana said acidly, “has been behind the anchor desk for three months and has only just discovered what the red light on the camera means.”

“That’s not true!” Casey protested. It wasn’t true. They’d taught him that in his film studies class.

Rob waved the objection away. “Three months is a long time in showbiz. His fans have been begging to see more of him – though the stalkers just want to see you naked,” he added, aside to Casey. It was meant to sound like a joke, but Casey heard the barb. Rob hadn’t been pleased at all when Casey started to get his own fan mail, less pleased yet when the volume of it started to rival his own. Rob regarded _Lone Star Sports_ as his own personal vanity project. He’d fought the network tooth and nail to be left as the show’s sole anchor, and had accepted Casey’s appointment grudgingly. To say the very least.

Dana sighed, and held up her hands in defeat. “Okay! Okay, fine, Casey can do it. Rob, you help him block the questions. Casey, just bring them by my office when you’re done and we’ll talk you through them, then we’ll give you a dry run in front of the camera. Okay?”

“Okay,” Casey agreed, and turned to his laptop to pull down some background on the allegedly insane Daniella Rydell.

He found half a dozen biographies easily enough – the media liked to call her a ‘madcap heiress’, he noted, amused; he’d thought the term had died with Noël Coward – and opened one. It took a few seconds; the site included a large gallery of photos. He looked, gulped, and hurriedly hit the back key. Several of them featured her topless.

“Oh, I should warn you, McCall,” Rob called across the office, “she likes to get her hooters out for the camera every chance she gets. You might want to keep a bucket of cold water by you.”

“I noticed,” Casey gritted, and went looking for the ‘adult material’ filter.

***

 

In person, Daniella Rydell seemed surprisingly, almost disappointingly, normal. The most immediately remarkable thing about her was how tall she was – almost as tall as Casey himself; in her ludicrously high heels, she easily topped six foot. She was dressed conservatively in a knee-length silk skirt and a cashmere sweater in toning dark blues, her only jewellery a pair of plain gold knot earrings and an amethyst pendant, probably antique, on a short gold chain. Her hair was thick and dark and fell in a sleek bob around an aquiline, distinctive face, too quirky for beauty, but vivid and fascinating. Casey found himself staring, only to be brought up short when he realised that Daniella was staring straight back at him in obvious amusement. He flushed, embarrassed to be caught out, and looked away. She laughed.

“You lose!” she said cheerfully, and went on, “It was the nose, I take it? It does tend to command attention. My dad was going to get me rhinoplasty for my 21st birthday, but somehow I never got around to taking him up on his kind offer.” Her voice was dryly sardonic; Casey worked it through, and realised that the offer had been anything but kind. Or tactful.

“My dad took me to a strip joint for my 18th,” he offered in exchange. “With all his buddies along for the ride.”

She nodded gravely. “Ah. A young man’s sentimental education. So important to scar him for life, I always think.” She held out her hand. “So. You have questions for me?” She was looking about herself as they walked through the offices and into the studio, taking in the new experience with candid fascination. “How do we do this …?”

_You tell me_, Casey thought, but he guided her into makeup (“I _love_ TV makeup,” she sighed, when Macy and Chantelle were through with her. “You sit down plain, and get up pretty!”) and then over to the interview area, faking a confidence that he suspected he would only ever feel in his wildest dreams. If even then.

The interview went well, Casey thought. Daniella was intelligent and funny, personable and charming, only smiling when he fumbled a question – he thought it reflected well on him that it was only the one, given how nervous he felt – and repeating her answer with a good grace. Her enthusiasm for her subject shone through, and Casey felt a little guilty when he pointed out, as he felt duty-bound to, that sailing was very much the domain of the rich. Daniella only grinned.

“Well, you know what they say, Casey – all you need is forty million dollars and a dream!” Then she was serious. “It’s true, to a certain degree, and it’s a shame – it’s the greatest sport in the world, really – great for kids. But anyone who’s near enough to one can join a sailing club and take lessons, and if you’re keen enough it’s possible to get taken on as crew. You do need the experience first – it looks so bad for us when we lose our crew overboard – but there are subsidies available – “ And she was away, talking about a number of schemes that were being put into play to try to bring sailing out of the ranks of the elite. Casey found himself watching her, watching the way her love of her chosen sport lit her from within. _Radiant_, he thought, and suddenly wondered why he had ever considered her anything but beautiful. Then, across the studio, he spotted Rob standing in a doorway, his arms folded and a scowl on his face, and Casey’s heart sank. Even though it had been his idea, it was entirely possible that Rob wasn’t going to be pleased that Casey’s first interview was a success. And if Rob wasn’t happy … well: nor would anyone else be. For as long as Rob kept it that way.

Daniella smiled at him again when it was all over. “There!” she said cheerfully, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She tilted her head and regarded him with bright speculation. “Are you okay? You looked like you were going to throw up once or twice back there.”

She was perceptive, Casey thought. Maybe too much so. He had a moment’s panic, wondering whether his anxiety had shown on camera, but no: if it had’ve done, Dana would have made him do a retake. “I’m good,” he said and, deciding it couldn’t hurt to come clean now, admitted, “It was – this was the first time I’ve done this. I was just a little bit nervous, that’s all.”

“You were fine,” Daniella assured him, and shot him another smile, this one bright and teasing. “I’m proud to have popped your figurative cherry, Casey. The least I can do by way of thanks is buy you dinner.”

“Now?” he blurted. He wasn’t sure whether he was flattered or alarmed, but whatever it was, it had him sounding like a nervous schoolboy.

She looked at her watch, and her forehead creased very slightly, drawing her unfashionably heavy eyebrows together into a dark ‘V’. “It’s five thirty. Is that too early for you?”

It was, a little, but – “It’s not that. It’s just … I’m working …”

“You’re not on the air until midnight, Casey, don’t tell me they don’t let you have a break!” She glanced toward the door. “Dana!” she called. “Dana, honey, can you spare your anchor for an hour or so? I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

“Bring him back in one piece,” Dana said dryly, as she crossed the floor to the interview stage. She touched Casey’s shoulder, ran her hand down his arm. “You did great, Casey – that looked really good.”

“He had excellent material to work with,” Daniella said smugly, “or are you saying I _didn’t_ look good, Ms Whitaker?”

Dana laughed. “You always look good, Danni. Quit fishing!” She leaned over and kissed the other woman on the cheek.

“And yet you don’t trust yourself on a boat with me,” Daniella said. She sounded sad, and turned huge, appealing eyes to Casey; her lower lip pouted, trembling. “Casey, Dana’s afraid to go sailing with me – ”

“I’ve been on your yacht plenty of times!” Dana protested.

“Huh.” Daniella shrugged this off. “Only when she’s safely moored and you have a couple of glasses of champagne in you.” She looked back at Casey. “What do you think, Casey? Is she chicken? Or do you think she doesn’t trust me?”

Casey thought it wisest to avoid the question. “I didn’t realise you two were friends …?”

“Oh, god, only since forever,” Daniella said airily. “Our fathers know one another, and we were Sorority sisters. She used to give me all her Barbies – she wouldn’t play with them – and I’d tell her mother we _hadn’t_ spent all day playing football with her brothers.” She flashed Dana another of her radiant smiles. “She turned out all right, I’d say.”

Dana returned the smile. “That’s very generous of you, hon. So did you. You can borrow Casey for two hours, okay? And I want him back safe!”

Daniella’s smile turned wicked. “I won’t lay a finger on him,” she promised, and glanced sidelong at Casey. “Temptation notwithstanding.”

Casey blushed.

***

 

Daniella chose the restaurant, a nondescript-looking Italian place hidden down a quiet alleyway. The manager greeted her as an old friend and found them a table tucked away towards the back, waxed lyrical about the day’s special dishes, and then left them in peace. Casey sat back, feeling slightly overwhelmed – more so when he saw the prices. He hoped the network would let him charge the meal to expenses. The accounts department was notoriously strict about that sort of thing.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, and winced as he heard the words come out of his mouth.

Daniella rested an elbow on the table and raised an amused eyebrow. “Good lord, Casey, I hope for your sake that’s not a sample of your flirting technique!”

He flushed. “I wasn’t – it’s not – I mean … the manager – he seemed to know you – ”

“I know a lot of people,” she said vaguely. “I get around. Did you think I spent all my time on the yacht?”

That kind of was what he had been thinking, actually. “No – I – ”

“No, some of the time I’m partying it up in nightclubs,” she said. It was meant to sound light, but Casey caught a bitter undertone. Did she regret her wilder, younger days, he wondered, or was it only the public perception of herself that she resented?

Daniella sat back in her chair as the sommelier approached them; went through a little ritual with the wine, that seemed familiar to her and left Casey confounded; then lifted her full glass to touch Casey’s. “Congratulations, Casey. To a new stage in your career!”

He held out his own glass, wondering if he was blushing again. The restaurant seemed overly warm. But then: this was Texas. It was far, far different from his Midwestern home, or his Eastern college. The heat was only a part of it. He managed to mumble a thank-you, gulped down some wine – and that was unlike anything he’d had before, too; he _hoped_ expenses would cover it – and looked up to find Daniella regarding him consideringly.

“So,” she said, “you know all about me, now, Casey. Tell me about you.”

He hesitated. “There’s not much to tell …”

“Well, for one thing,” she said, “how old are you? You look about nineteen – ” At Casey’s wordless sound of protest, she smiled and amended, “Okay. Twenty. Twenty one?”

“I’m twenty four!” Casey said indignantly.

“Oh, lord,” she said, “_that_ old?! And you’re already anchoring your own show. Did they hire you straight out of college?”

Casey reached for his wineglass again, and was surprised to find it empty. Daniella held out the bottle and refilled his glass.

“They kind of did,” he said. “Not for the anchor position – as a writer, and to do some research, editing – you know, back up the main guys. And I got bumped up to the anchor pool, for subbing, after a couple of months – ”

“They liked you?”

“I don’t know. Just lucky, really, I guess. Then the other anchor – not Rob – he died …”

“M’m,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s pretty obvious it wasn’t Rob. Pity. So you stepped in?”

“I was next on the list. And after the show, we got a lot of calls, the ratings went up a point – so they took me on as the new co-anchor.” He drank some more wine, barely noticing the taste now, and looked back up at Daniella. He felt reckless suddenly, bold and untouchable. “Now it’s my turn to ask you something.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’ve just spent an hour asking me questions, Casey, what could you possibly have managed to miss?”

“This isn’t about sports. It’s – ”

“You didn’t find everything else you could possibly need to know while you were doing your research?” Again, her voice held a note he couldn’t identify. Was it bitterness? Anger?” He looked a question at her. After a moment, she said, tightly, “You must’ve done an Internet search for me, Casey, and I know which site comes up first when you do that. Once you’ve been there, what is there left to know about me?”

“I didn’t - !” he protested. Then, in the interest of full disclosure, he admitted, “that is, I did. But, um, I – I didn’t look. I mean – I looked, but I shut it down right away. I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“_Relevant?_” Daniella said incredulously. She stared at him a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Casey, Casey, you are so _sweet!_”

“Sweet,” Casey said in disgust. Daniella was laughing too hard to respond for a moment. She waved a hand to forestall any more questions. Casey sat back and finished the wine in his glass. They seemed to have emptied the bottle, but another one had magically appeared, along with their food. He forked up a few mouthfuls of rice, barely tasting it. _Sweet_. He didn’t know what sort of impression he’d wanted to make on this woman – this amazing, glamorous, smart, funny, sexy woman – but _sweet_ definitely wasn’t it. And while he might have wanted to make her laugh, again, he was pretty sure it wasn’t in _that_ way.

Daniella eventually quietened down to muted giggles, punctuated by an occasional stifled hiccup. She drank some water, and finally achieved a state of silence. “I’m so, so, sorry, Casey,” she said at last. “Have I mortally offended you?” She looked into his face. “I have, haven’t I? I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to. But, truly, that really is the most – ” She seemed about to go off again, and stopped talking, shaking her head.

“It just didn’t seem very … manly,” Casey offered, somewhat helplessly. Daniella looked at him in some despair.

“Casey, most men … oh, never mind.” She made a conscious effort at composure. “I’m sorry. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

He’d almost forgotten that he’d been going to ask her anything, and had to think for a moment. “Oh. It’s …” And then he stopped. He remembered how, as they’d left the studio, Rob had stepped into their office doorway. And Daniella had stopped walking. Looked at him. Said, “Robert,” in the coldest, most distant voice imaginable. And then walked on, without waiting for a reply.

She waited. Eventually, she said, “It’s what? Embarrassing? Tactless? Invasive? None of your business?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

She sat back and sighed. “Well. It’s not as if my life was a closed book. Is there possibly anything you could want to know that hasn’t been covered in depth by the gutter press?”

“I just wondered …” He still wasn’t sure how to say it. Finally he just blurted it out. “You and Rob … what’s up with that?”

“Rob?” Her face was carefully expressionless.

“He wouldn’t do the interview,” Casey found himself saying, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He just flat-out refused. He said … said …” And he came up short, unable to repeat it.

“I can imagine,” Daniella said coldly. “Well. We do have a history, Robert and I. But actually, Casey, I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think it’s anyone else’s business but ours. It dates back to college, it’s ancient history, and it’s of no possible relevance to anyone.”

Casey said nothing. Just sat back, watching her. Waiting. There was _something_ there, he knew there was. And how many people could resist the chance to unburden their grievances?

“You’re staring again,” Daniella said sharply, and reached for her own wineglass. “We dated for a while, if you must know, Casey. Robert … well. You probably know this anyway, yourself. He likes to get his own way. And he’s not good at taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

_Not good at - ?_ “Did he rape you?” Casey blurted, from god only knew what dark place in his subconscious. Daniella was staring at him, her face ashen.

“Did he …?” she repeated slowly, as if she couldn’t believe the words. Casey couldn’t quite believe he’d said them himself. “Good god, Casey, no, he did _not!_ He …” She stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. “What in the world kind of relationship do you have with him if you honestly believe he’s capable of that? Do you think _Dana_ would work with him if he was that sort of man? She was there with us, all the way through college, she lived through the trauma – why don’t you ask _Dana_ what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. He pushed away his half-finished plate of food; Daniella had barely touched her own. “I didn’t mean … I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry. It was just – like you said: I _do_ know him.”

“To know him,” Daniella said wryly, “is evidently to love him. Except, not so much with the love. Does he give you a hard time?”

Casey didn’t want to whine. But it didn’t hurt to tell the truth. “It’s what you said. He does like to get his own way. And he doesn’t like competition. He can be mean – he really likes playing practical jokes.” Such as ‘losing’ important messages; hiding Casey’s car keys when Casey had a vital appointment to get to. Giving Casey the wrong information and making him look like a fool …

“You have to stand up to him,” Daniella said, with a sigh. “It’s the only way. But it won’t make him like you. As we have seen.” She picked up her fork, pushed some food around on her plate, and put it down again; looked up at Casey. “Just out of interest – what would you have done if I’d said yes, that was what had happened?”

Casey finished his second – third? – glass of wine and set it down a little harder than he’d planned to. “I’d kill him,” he said flatly.

Daniella’s mouth quirked oddly. “Really? Poor Robert. He’d be quaking in his shoes if he knew.” She stretched out a hand across the table and brushed Casey’s cheek. “You really are very sweet, Casey. Like it or not, you are. Very sweet, and very quixotic.” She stood up and moved around the table. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Casey watched her as she crossed the restaurant, heading for the restrooms. She walked, as she did everything, with an inbuilt confidence that he himself could only dream of: as though she were sure of the world around her and of her own place in it. It was an outlook that he admired and envied. He knew he was doing well – very well, for his age; he’d come a long way. But there was so much farther to go. And sometimes he doubted his own abilities; doubted, even, whether he deserved all the luck he’d had. One day, he was sure, he’d find himself paying the price; one day the other shoe would drop.

He wondered whether Daniella had ever had a moment’s doubt in her life. Somehow he didn’t think so. As far as he could tell, she was the original _je ne regrette rien_ girl.

He looked back at the table. There didn’t seem to be any wine left, and he’d lost his appetite. He drank some water, and decided he’d better check out the men’s room himself.

The corridor was narrow, dimly lit, the clatter of the restaurant only faintly audible behind the heavy swing door. He used the restroom, washed his hands, and pushed his way back out again. And walked straight into Daniella, coming out of the women’s room.

She said, “Oh!” softly, and her hands came up to his chest to fend him off; rested there, not pushing him away, but not drawing him closer either. Leaving the decision up to him. And there was a decision to be made: he could feel it, a spark, palpable between them.

He made that decision. He said, “Daniella – ” and moved closer, sliding his hands up her arms, around her back; reaching up (and that was a novel sensation) to touch his mouth to hers. Her lips parted under his; he accepted the invitation and deepened the kiss, his tongue touching hers, exploring, devouring; tasting the wine they’d shared, breathing in her perfume and the scent of her skin, sweeter still. His hands were on her hips, pulling her close against him; he was hard already, just from the touch, his mind reeling out of control, not thinking, only wanting; only feeling.

He drew away from her mouth finally, reluctantly; whispered, “I want you,” and kissed her again. He felt the curve of her mouth as she smiled against his skin.

“You’ve got me,” she murmured, and put him away from her for a moment (he muttered a wordless protest), glancing up and down the corridor. “Here,” she said quietly, reached behind herself for the door to the women’s room and pulled him in behind her. Casey leaned against the door, watching her, waiting for her to make the next move. His head was spinning. None of this felt real. He didn’t do this. Not Casey McCall: straitlaced, conservative, reliable Casey. But then – that Casey would never find himself this close to a woman like Daniella. Which, by a process of logic, meant that he must be some other Casey McCall: a long-lost twin, maybe, or an alien clone. And if that were so, then whatever happened here –

“_Oh!_”

(She was on her knees before him, methodically unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his waistband, unzipping his fly; her fingers were inside his boxers, fondling him, stroking him …)

Whatever happened here –

“_Oh … Jesus …_”

(Her mouth was on him now, her mouth and her hands, her touch sure and deft and expert …)

Whatever happened here … didn’t …

“_Oh, god … yes … Danni – _”

… didn’t … count …

… in the real world.

He sagged against the door as she fastened his pants again, stood up, went to the washbasin and rinsed her mouth matter of factly. Then she came back to him, laid her hand along the side of his face, and kissed his cheek.

“Good?” she asked, and he nodded weakly. “Good. We’d better get back to the table. Did you want dessert?”

Casey caught her wrist as she went to move past him. “Danni. Don’t – ”

She looked back at him, smiling. “That’s the second time you’ve called me ‘Danni’. Don’t what, Casey?”

Reality was setting in, tumbling down around his ears in an avalanche of shame and embarrassment. Casey suddenly realised that he’d just had sex in a public restroom. Admittedly, a scrupulously clean restroom – clean as his mother’s kitchen floor – but still: a restroom. Which was pretty sordid by anybody’s standards. He drew Daniella back to him, wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly. “Don’t just walk away,” he whispered. “I’m sorry … sorry. It shouldn’t have been like this …”

She pulled him close, laid gentle kisses against his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. She said, “Shh. Shh, Casey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” And when he buried his face in her neck, and felt the warmth of tears between his skin and hers, he felt rather than heard her laugh, and she whispered to him, “Oh, Casey. You really are … so. Very. Sweet.”

***

 

By some miracle, for all the time they appeared to have been gone, when Casey got back to the Lone Star offices he discovered that it was only just past seven o’clock. He’d blocked out most of that night’s script earlier in the day, and only had final scores and updates to fill in, so, whatever else he might have on his conscience, he could at least be content that his job was done.

Which didn’t stop that conscience of his twingeing when he got to his own office and found Dana sitting in his desk chair, idly twirling from side to side and tapping a pencil against her hand.

“Good dinner?” she asked, looking up as he came into the room.

He just nodded, not sure that he could speak without betraying … something. There were suddenly too many secrets in his nice, safe, tidy little world.

“Daniella’s a hell of a girl, isn’t she?” Dana went on brightly. “_Incredible_ girl. I bet you never knew a girl like her, did you, Casey?”

“I – ” Casey started, realised he didn’t know where that sentence was going, and finished, lamely, “No. No, I didn’t. Yes. She’s … pretty special.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Dana said. “We were like sisters, you know, once upon a time. Dana and Danni. How we used to laugh when people mixed us up.”

“They mixed you up?” Dana was 5’ 5”, tops, blue-eyed and blonde. Daniella … was none of those things.

“They mixed the _names_ up, Casey,” Dana said patiently. “Your script’s all written, except for the last-minute stuff. Rob filled in the blanks for you.”

“I’ll check it,” Casey said. It would be unprofessional and … well: low – of Rob to make a deliberate error on the script just to make Casey look bad. It would also be just the sort of thing he’d do if he was holding a grudge.

“I already did,” Dana said. She smiled reassurance at him. “I fixed it. And I talked to him. Casey, why didn’t you come to us if he was giving you trouble?”

“I – ”

“Because it’s against the Guy Code? You don’t want to be a tattletale?” She shook her head at him. “We’re not in school now, Casey. If you want to play with the big boys, you have to stand up for yourself. In any case,” she went on briskly, “He won’t be doing it again.”

Casey sat on the edge of the table, vaguely embarrassed to have Dana fighting his battles for him, but nonetheless more relieved than he could say. He’d never admitted it, even to himself, but things had been bad. He’d been getting to the stage where he was dreading coming in to work. Maybe now things would be better.

Maybe now he had nothing more to worry about.

At least, not as far as his work was concerned.

“So, you’re good?” Dana said. He nodded, and she smiled again, pushed back the chair and got up. “I’ll be in my office, then. I’ll see you at the rundown. Oh!” She picked up a pink phone slip from the desk and held it out to him as he came over to his computer. “I almost forgot. Lisa rang.”

Casey stopped dead in his tracks. _Oh. God._ “Lisa!” He reached out a hand, found his chair and slumped heavily into its seat. “Lisa!”

“Lisa,” Dana confirmed, and added helpfully, “your fiancée. In case you’d forgotten.”

He almost had. Worse: he’d _wanted_ to forget. “Lisa!” he said again. He was beginning to sound like a stuck record. His head felt thick and cottony suddenly. He’d known the heavy red wine had been a mistake. _Oh, yeah,_ his mind supplied, _it was the **wine** that was the mistake!_

“I … I need to call her back …” His hand reached out again, fumbling for the phone. Dana’s hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked up into her face, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d had teachers look at him that way. Usually just before he heard the words, “Stay behind after class.”

“Don’t you think you should wait a little? Decide what you want to tell her?”

“I _have_ to tell her – ” Casey began.

Dana waited for a long, long moment. Then, “Tell her what, Casey?” she asked, very quietly.

Casey looked back up at her in appeal. “You know,” he said, dully. “Don’t you?” He didn’t ask how she knew; he didn’t want to know. Maybe it was some special power that she (and possibly all women) had.

“If I didn’t,” Dana said, “I certainly do now. As for Lisa … do you honestly think she’d be better off knowing?”

“I can’t lie to her!” Casey said wildly. “Dana, why didn’t you tell me what she was like? Daniella? She – ”

“Daniella,” Dana interrupted sharply, “is a beautiful, intelligent woman who knows exactly what she wants in life and how to get it. And you are a grown man, Casey, not a little boy, although sometimes you seem to have trouble remembering that. I very much doubt whether she did anything you didn’t want her to do. If you’d told her no, she would have taken no for an answer. Trust me. I know.”

Intriguing as that was – _how_ did she know, and did it have anything to do with Daniella’s dislike of Robert? – Casey decided not to pursue the question. He was going to have to deal with at least one very angry woman in his near future; he didn’t feel any need to add another one to the list.

“I’ll talk to Lisa,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Dana.”

Dana rested her hand on his wrist for a moment. “It’s okay. Everyone’s allowed one mistake, Casey.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out strangled and ugly-sounding. “Only one?”

“Maybe just one at a time,” she amended.

He managed a weak smile. “That’s better. I’d hate to think I’d already used up my quota.”

***

 

He told Lisa. Naturally, he told Lisa. It was the only thing, the only right thing, the _menschy_ thing (so Dana later remarked) to do. Still, there were times in the days (weeks, months, years) that followed when he wished, wished with all his heart, that he was not that guy. That he was the guy who could happily live a lie. Lisa cried, a little. Well: she had the right. And she yelled. A _lot_. And screamed. For which, again, Casey really couldn’t blame her. But, after a while, she calmed down. She forgave him, she said. And she wouldn’t call off the wedding. Not at this late date; not after her parents had gone to so much effort to get everything right. Not when the guests had been invited, and the church had been booked, and her dress had been fitted, and … the list went on, until Casey was longing to ask whether she really wanted to marry him at all, or if it was only the wedding itself that she cared about. But, of course, he didn’t dare. He was in enough trouble already without adding to it.

She never really did forgive him, it turned out. The marriage was a disaster, from the moment he fumbled the ring in church (looking back, he should’ve known that was an omen) to the day, five years later, when he came home from work and found his suitcases packed and waiting for him on the porch. He didn’t even bother knocking on the door to argue with her; just picked up his bags, got back in his car, and drove off to check into a hotel.

There’d been a lot of changes in the meantime. _Lone Star Sports_ was a two-year distant memory. Rob had been offered his own late-night talk show, and had moved out to Hollywood on a tide of fake goodwill and ill-disguised resentment. Casey had tried his best not to rejoice when the show had crashed and burned and then vanished without a trace, and, mostly, he’d managed. At least in public. Dana, however, had laughed immoderately. And laughed, and then laughed some more. He wondered whether she’d called Daniella to crow about it. He knew they were still in touch; she’d drop the name occasionally – “Danni was in town this weekend”; “Danni helped me pick out these shoes”. He never asked for details, and she never offered them. And when Daniella captained a team to victory in some sailboat race or other, as she did several times over those years, Dana never again suggested that _Lone Star_ cover the event.

Then the offer from Continental Corp had come up: a new dedicated cable sports channel, a daily late-night round-up of the day’s action. Two anchors, a team of hand-picked professionals. They wanted Dana, and they wanted Casey.

They got them. And, in return, Casey got a huge salary hike and a new life in New York.

And a divorce.

It seemed a fair enough payoff. Five years of bitterness and anger in exchange for everything he’d ever thought he wanted: money, and celebrity, and an open forum for his own opinions, a chance to make others love the things he loved – or, at least, appreciate them; he accepted that some people were beyond hope. He found an apartment and moved in; started to furnish it, but rapidly lost interest. After all, he was never there, only to sleep and maybe catch a cup of coffee before heading for the studio. He thought he ought to get back into dating (there was no ‘back’; there had been Lisa, ever since he was 19, and that was pretty much it). He tried. There were girls in bars. Bar girls. Being a TV celebrity, it turned out, was a big advantage when it came to impressing women. Except that, very quickly, Casey found out he didn’t want the sort of woman who could be impressed that way.

He wondered occasionally whether Dana was secretly in love with him. He’d catch her, from time to time, watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking; he thought there was a speculative glint in her eye. He wondered how that would be, to be in love with Dana and realised, almost at once, that the question was the answer: if he had to ask, then he wasn’t.

He wished he was. It would have made life a lot simpler.

He didn’t even realise that he was sinking into a slump, his on-screen persona and his writing losing their edge, becoming lacklustre and charmless. He only knew that nothing was the same any more. Everything seemed pointless, tedious, monotonous: _Sports Night_, New York, his colleagues, meeting new people, keeping up with old friends, even getting out of bed in the morning – everything. And even if he had realised, he wouldn’t have known how to fix it.

Things had been going on this way for almost six months when he looked up one night and saw Daniella.

He was in a bar. That was nothing unusual; there were often drinks after work, although it sometimes occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t invited as frequently now as once he might have been. But he’d never been in that particular bar before. He had no idea, really, why he was there now. He hadn’t wanted to go to Anthony’s, as usual; he’d wanted a break from his colleagues and the endless shop talk. There was more to life than sports, he’d thought, although, if pressed, he’d’ve been hard put to say exactly what. So he’d set off down the street alone, wandering without any sense of purpose or direction. He’d heard music coming from a doorway, and had stepped through to see what was happening inside.

It was a blues bar, he realised, and for a moment he was on the verge of stepping out again – he liked his music tuneful, and something a little less than morbidly depressing – but then he thought, why not? It was as good a place as any. The bar wasn’t too crowded, there were seats available. The people who’d come for the music weren’t going to bother him, and he didn’t need to pay too much attention to them. And there was no TV, not even with the sound turned off. No sports. Not so much as a poster or a pennant on the walls or behind the bar. Really, if he wanted anonymity – if he wanted to escape, for just one night, from being Casey McCall – it was perfect.

He ordered a beer, found an empty table, and settled in. His ears tuned out the noise around him, music and all, and he rested his head back against the padded couch and tried to relax.

That was when he saw her: tall and slender as ever in form-fitting black jeans and a crimson top that shimmered as she moved, her dark hair longer now, falling midway down her back. She was turned away from him, but he knew her. He knew.

He wanted to call out to her, or at least to go over there, but for some reason his body seemed frozen, refusing to obey his mind’s commands. He thought, _Maybe she doesn’t remember me anyway._

(Because a woman like that probably blew a lot of strange men in public restrooms.)

And, if she did remember him, why should he think she’d want to see him? He’d never called her; never made contact. Neither (he told himself defensively) had she; it wasn’t a one-way street. And god only knew what Dana might have said to her. They would have talked. They were women. Oh, yes. They’d talked.

Then she turned and saw him, and smiled. And the decision was taken out of his hands.

She said something to the people on either side of her; kissed one man on the cheek. _She’s with a guy,_ Casey thought, _that’s the guy she’s with._ But she was coming toward him, still smiling, and he thought, _but now ****I’m**** that guy. I’m the guy she wants to see._ And he found himself smiling back at her, and wondering why his face muscles felt so stiff and unfamiliar.

“Casey McCall!” Daniella said, and dropped into the seat next to him. She put her beer bottle on the table and twisted around to look at him. Her hand reached out to brush the tips of his hair, stiff with styling gel. “Look at you.” Her smile widened. “You’re all grown up now!”

She didn’t look any older herself, Casey thought, although it was difficult to tell in the dim lighting. There might have been a few lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before; maybe her smile took a bit more effort these days. But none of that mattered. She looked …

“Amazing,” he said, softly, devoutly. “You look amazing, Daniella.” He wanted to say, _I’ve missed you;_ he wanted to say, _I’ve never stopped thinking about you._ Instead, he said, awkwardly, “I feel bad.”

“Bad?” Daniella put her head to one side, curious. “Why bad? You didn’t want to see me? I can go away – ?”

“No!” he said quickly. “Don’t. Bad because … I never called you. I should have. I ought to have called you, Daniella. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

She shrugged one slim, elegant shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you to, honey. It’s okay. It was just a thing, a thing we did. No big deal.”

He tried to smile. “It was a big deal for me. At the time. You … I’d never met anyone quite like you before. I never knew what I was missing.”

She laughed, and touched his arm. “You’re still as sweet as ever, Casey. But you make me feel like an evil Scarlet Woman, you know, seducing innocent young men in public places. I don’t do that so much these days. Truly. I’m a reformed character.”

“Really?” He looked at her, and she nodded, her eyes sparkling.

“Really!”

“Huh,” he said, and reached for his beer. “That’s kind of a shame.” She looked a question. “For them. What they’re missing.” He glanced away from her, concentrated on his drink as he said, “If I didn’t call you then, I should have done last year. I started to … I just … I didn’t know what to say.”

“Nothing you could say,” Daniella said, flatly. “My sister died. There was nothing anyone could have said.” She sighed. “But it was a kind thought. I needed those. That was a tough time.”

“I saw the papers,” he said. “Your father – ”

“ – blames me, I know. It’s okay. He’s dropped the civil action. I resigned from the Board, so I don’t have to see him any more. We’re as good as we’re ever going to get, I think. Let’s not talk about it, Casey, okay? How about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Casey said, and wondered whether that was how he was defining himself these days.

She seemed to wince slightly. “I know. Dana told me.” (So they _did_ talk!) “My turn to say ‘I’m sorry’, I guess. I really am. Are you doing okay?”

Casey made a so-so gesture with his free hand, and tried to look resigned-but-brave. “Pretty much. Things haven’t been great for a while – ” _or ever_ “ – so it’s probably for the best. One thing: at least we don’t have kids. That would’ve really been rough.”

Daniella reached out again and squeezed his hand. “I know,” she said again. “It’s pretty awful for kids. I remember, when I was twelve, my parents decided they’d get divorced. I was so scared – I thought maybe it was my fault, something I’d done, and I thought, what if neither of them wanted to keep me? I used to hear them yelling, and I’d just sit in my room and pull the bedcovers over me, and wish with all my heart that it would never happen …” She shook the memory away and smiled, rather grimly. “Of course, that was in the days before pre-nups, and when my dad figured out how much it’d cost him, he changed his mind.”

“So everything was okay?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “Well, not exactly. If I’d’ve realised it was going to turn into six years of ‘Daniella, please ask your father to pass the salt’ before I could get away to college, I would’ve been wishing something quite different. So,” she went on, changing the subject, “You have a new apartment? Making a fresh start?” He nodded. “What’s it like? Is it big and fancy and luxurious, now you’re a famous TV star?”

Casey found that he’d thought about that question so little that he actually couldn’t even visualise the place. There was a bed, a shower, and a coffee machine; a closet for his clothes. A TV, which he never watched. A clock on one wall, a mirror on another. A radio by the bed, set to wake him up in time (in theory) for him to visit the gym before work. Maybe other stuff. That was all he could bring to mind. “It’s okay,” he finally said.

Daniella sat back and regarded him thoughtfully for a long time, long enough that he started to want to fidget. “H’m,” she finally decided. “That’s no way to live. You know what this calls for, don’t you, Casey?”

“What?” he asked warily.

The brightest of bright smiles lit her face. “Bloomingdales!” she said happily.

And, just like that, they had a date.

***

 

Three days later Casey found himself stumbling through the door to his apartment, weighed down with shopping bags. Daniella followed him, only slightly less laden, dropped her bags on the floor and looked around herself. She let out a dispirited sigh.

“Oh, lord. It’s worse than I thought. We should’ve bought paint as well.”

Casey flopped onto the couch. It was hard, uncomfortable. How was it he’d never realised that before? “No,” he said forcefully, “I am _not_ going out again. Nothing will get me off this couch!” He stretched out along its length. “In fact, I might just die here.”

“H’m,” Daniella said, evidently not impressed. “Just tell me where you want the body sent, and I’ll make the arrangements. Alternatively, you just need coffee.” Casey groaned. “No, don’t make that noise – I’ll make it.” She vanished in the direction of the kitchen.

Casey let his head fall back against the arm of the couch, propping his feet up against the opposite end. Truthfully? The afternoon had been … well: fun. More fun than he could remember having had in a long, long time. He’d spent a shedload of cash, and his feet were killing him, but those things didn’t matter. It was Daniella who’d made the difference; her enthusiasm and energy were infectious (if only temporarily; the energy, at least, seemed to have deserted him again), and he’d found himself caught up in the whirlwind of her activity. Besides, she had excellent taste. It was true, he’d felt rather as though he were the Ken in her Barbie doll house – Ken with better hair and, well, other differences too – but, he had to admit as he looked around the (face it) dingy room, her choices were undoubtedly better than any he might have made. He could see now that the place was actually pretty bleak, verging on grim. It was a metaphor, perhaps, for his state of mind over the past few months.

Time for things to change.

Daniella reappeared, a coffee mug in each hand, and set them down on the table. She settled into an armchair, frowning as she shifted about trying to make herself comfortable. “Paint,” she said again, “and also new furniture. What _is_ this junk?”

“Thanks,” Casey said, sarcastically.

She glanced at him, sidelong. “You want to argue about it?” He shrugged. “Didn’t think so. What, did you furnish this place out of yard sales?”

“Lisa – ” Casey began, but the explanation stuck in his throat. The apartment was furnished with stuff Lisa had let him have. Stuff she hadn’t wanted, the same way she hadn’t wanted him. Worn-out furniture, mismatched china, the old towels and bedding that had been replaced by wedding presents but never thrown away. A rug she’d never liked; a vase his mother had given them. But he found he couldn’t say so to Daniella. How could he admit to having given up so easily?

He looked away. A moment later he felt a cool hand touch his own. He turned back to find Daniella kneeling beside the couch, watching him tenderly, compassionately.

“Palmed you off with all the crap, did she?” she said. “Well. We can fix that.” And she leaned over to brush a kiss across his lips. “There’s nothing broken that can’t be fixed, Casey.”

He reached to pull her closer, sitting up a little and bringing her into his arms. They kissed, long and sweet and slow, until they were breathless, and then kissed a little more – for good measure, to make up for lost time. Eventually, reluctantly, Casey pulled himself free and looked down into Daniella’s upturned, expectant face.

“Is this too much?” he asked, a little uncertainly. Women, he had learned the hard way, were not to be taken for granted. “Is it too soon?”

Daniella smiled fond reassurance. “Silly. It’s five years overdue. And it’s _way_ not enough.” And she kissed him again, and slid her hand between them, reaching for his zipper. Casey gasped, and moved his own hand to help her. She slapped it away. “No, let me … _there_,” she said triumphantly, and slipped her hand inside his fly, wrapping her fingers around him and exerting gentle pressure. Casey gasped again, quite differently this time, and she laughed, low in her throat. “You like that?”

That had to be a rhetorical question. Casey caught her lips with his own again, hungry, greedy, desperate. She held his mouth with hers as she moved her hand around him, her other hand cradling his head close while his own gripped her shoulders and he thrust into her grasp. It seemed to take only a few moments – embarrassingly few – before he was panting out his release, and falling back, limp and spent, against the couch. She shifted around until she was lying part over and part beside him, laid her cheek against his, stroked his hair. “Better?” she asked softly, and he nodded, wordless. She turned her head slightly; pressed soft lips against his throat. “You needed that.” Her weight lifted for a moment; when she came back, he looked up and saw she had a handful of Kleenex. He smiled, and folded his arms behind his head, watching as she cleaned him off, as practical and efficient as a hospital nurse – _now, there was a fantasy_, he thought, and started to undress her in his mind. He’d meant to replace her jeans and teeshirt with a nurse’s uniform, but somehow he never got that far. He wanted the reality, not whatever poor, second-rate substitute his imagination could conjure up. He made a determined effort – his bones felt warm and half-melted – and pushed himself up.

She was sitting back on her heels, her knees framing his hips, and he reached for her, tangling his fingers in her hair as he kissed her again, then freeing one hand to tug her shirt upward. He touched her breast, and she gasped and shuddered, her knees tightening. He laughed – “Now who needs it?” – and tugged the shirt over her head, lowering his own head to suck at her skin through her bra. Her hands came up to cradle him, and he felt her tongue against his earlobe, her teeth biting gently down.

A phone rang, and they both jumped and swore. “What - ?” Casey began, looking around for the noise.

“My cellphone,” Daniella said briefly. “Sorry. Let me just – ” She scrambled off the couch, found her purse, and rifled quickly through it; checked the caller, and swore again. “Damn. It’s my father, Casey, I’d better take it. Sorry,” she said again, and flicked the phone open, turning away from him and saying, coldly, “Dad?”

It was a short conversation. Daniella said, “Yes,” and “If that’s what you want.” There was a silence then for several moments, and then she said, “I’ll have it couriered over to you tonight. Goodbye, Dad,” and snapped the phone shut. After a moment’s consideration, she switched it off.

Casey waited, unwilling to ask what had just happened. Daniella’s face was still, impassive, but he’d watched as she was speaking, and had seen her mouth twist, and her eyes flutter closed. After a moment, she shook her head, dropped the phone into her bag, and came back to Casey, kneeling back down by the couch and leaning over to kiss him quickly one more time, before reaching over to snag her teeshirt and pull it carelessly back on.

“That’s a shitty place to have to leave things,” she said lightly, “but I’ve got to go. Can I call you?”

He swung his legs off the edge of the couch, took her wrists in his hand, and pulled her back to him. “Do better than that. Let me go with you.”

She drew back, trying to smile. “Ah, Casey …”

He held up a hand in warning. “Don’t you dare call me ‘sweet’!”

That made her laugh, and some of the tension left her eyes. “Okay. But you are, you know. I just need to do something, and … it’s not something I want to do.” She put on a deliberately bright, mocking smile. “You don’t want to see me cry, do you?”

“No,” Casey said. “I don’t want you to cry at all. But if you do, I want to be there.”

She said, “_Oh!_” and he was horrified to see actual tears start to her eyes. She brushed them away quickly, and shook her head. “There! You see what happens?”

Casey held out his hands, admitting apology. “My fault. See, now I feel bad. The least you could do is let me help.” He reached out and took her hands. “Daniella. Will you let me help?”

She sighed. “I need to go back to my place. You want to come with me?”

“I’ll come,” he said, and picked up her coat from the chair where she’d dropped it earlier. “Here.” He helped her into it, shrugged into his own jacket, and slung an arm around her shoulders to guide her to the door.

***

 

Daniella’s own apartment made Casey’s look like the poor relation that slinks around the margins of family events and is never acknowledged: big, light and airy, and exquisitely furnished. He sank into a couch that threatened to swallow him whole, and watched as she opened a drawer in an antique desk, pulled out a padded envelope and addressed it in neat, backward-sloping handwriting. Squinting a little, he made out the addressee’s name as Jacob Rydell. Daniella’s father. A few moments later, the buzzer sounded; Daniella had called the courier company from the cab. She buzzed them up, went to the door and handed the envelope over. When she turned back, Casey saw that the amethyst necklace she’d been wearing – that, if he thought about it (he didn’t pay much mind to these things), she’d been wearing every time he’d seen her – was gone.

She saw where his eyes rested, and laid a hand against her throat. “It was my grandmother’s,” she said simply. “His mother’s. She gave it to me when I was sixteen. He wanted it back.”

Casey didn’t know what to say. He pushed himself up out of the couch’s embrace and moved to Daniella, suddenly needing to hold her. “Because of your sister,” he said, knowing that must be the answer, and felt the movement as she nodded confirmation. “He really blames you that she died?”

She clung to him tightly for a moment, then moved away. “The thing is,” she said, in a strange, taut voice, “I can’t even say he’s wrong. I wasn’t the best example, growing up. And I should never have allowed her on the yacht. Oh, but I _thought_ she was okay this time – we all did, we thought this last time in rehab, she’d really turned herself around … but, god, Casey, I’ve lived with addicts all my life, my whole damn family’s nothing but a bunch of junkies, one way or another – with my dad and David it’s power, my mom spends her life spaced out on Xanax and gin, Samantha … well, you know about Sam … addicts lie, Casey, it’s what they do. And Sammie … Sammie was always smarter than any of us. If she wanted to hide something, she’d hide it. So she invited herself to this party I was having ....” She fell silent, wrapping her arms around herself. Casey knew the rest. It had been in all the papers, every detail painstakingly itemised and then rehashed over and over again: all of Daniella’s past raked back up, every too-revealing photograph, every one of her teenage indiscretions. He could only begin to imagine how it must have hurt her. But she had to know: none of that stuff mattered to him. None of it.

He moved up behind her and touched her shoulder, and she started. “Don’t! I can’t …”

“Danni,” he said, and put his hand on her shoulder again, more firmly this time, making her turn around. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” she said, “I know.” She rested her head on his own shoulder and wound her arms around him. “What I don’t know is why. What I did to deserve you. I _don’t_ deserve you.”

_Why?_ Casey thought. _Because I care about you. Because I think I fell in love with you five years ago, and I was crazy not to tell you so then._ But it was too early to say those things; she wasn’t ready to hear them yet. Soon, though. Very soon.

“I want to be here,” was all he said, and she held him tighter yet.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, and turned her face away, as though the plea were a weakness, one she was ashamed to admit.

Casey laid his cheek against her soft hair. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not again. I’m not going anywhere, Danni.”

He’d never been much good at promises in the past. But this – this was one he knew could never be broken. No matter what it might take. Daniella had come back to him, and he wasn’t going to take the chance of losing her.

Not ever again.

***

 


End file.
